#mostly because i stalled out for like a month in the middle of this

[griseldabanks]

Had a facepalm moment earlier of discovering the brilliant fic you wrote for someone’s Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan prompt and hoping you’d write more, and then…several days later…realizing…PROMPTS. That’s how this works. Anyway, can’t believe I didn’t send you one earlier, but: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan for "I missed you”, if you’re up for it?

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

It had been a long, exhausting day, but Obi-Wan didn't feel tired in the least. Packing up all of his belongings (few as they were) and moving them across the Dune Sea would have been a tiring endeavor, even if he hadn't just come from a harrowing trip halfway across the galaxy. And then, of course, there was a new cave to find, preliminary preparations to be made before nightfall in order to make his new home habitable...but none of that mattered.

Wrapping his cloak around himself against the chill of the desert night, Obi-Wan sat on the shelf of rock where he'd placed his bedroll. He pulled his legs up onto the blanket, closed his eyes, and opened himself to the Force.

Warmth and light that had nothing to do with his small heating unit suffused him from the inside out. For a moment, he hesitated. Then he reached out tentatively and murmured, “Master Qui-Gon?”

“Obi-Wan.”

His eyes popped open, and there, sitting beside him on the rock as if he'd been there the whole time, was Qui-Gon. Translucent and tinged blue—like a hologram and yet not—Qui-Gon looked the same as he had the day he'd died. The same twinkle in his eyes, the same hint of humor lingering in the creases at the corners of his eyes, in the twitch of his beard, in the lilt of his voice....

“You're here,” was all Obi-Wan could think to say.

Qui-Gon nodded patiently. “So I am.”

“I missed you.” Unbidden, tears welled up in his eyes. “I missed you so much, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon's eyebrows knitted together with a look of sympathy. “I know.”

If he'd been here physically, he would have reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. Now, he didn't move, but Obi-Wan felt a gentle ripple in the Force washing over him, warm and familiar. Obi-Wan closed his eyes to savor that feeling, something he hadn't experienced in so long.

How many times a day would Obi-Wan feel that presence brush against his, like the touch of a hand? Checking to see where the other was, reassurance in a moment of trouble, a brief reminder or admonishment that needed no words. As unique and unmistakable as a voice, as a fingerprint forever marked in his soul.

And yet, for some twenty-odd years, he hadn't felt Qui-Gon's presence even once.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, he felt like a boy again. Like that twelve-year-old boy who had just become a Padawan and wondered if he would ever truly please his Master.

“I needed you,” he whispered, the desperation in his own voice surprising him. “I called to you, again and again. Where were you?”

Qui-Gon's eyes were as kind as ever as he folded his arms inside the voluminous sleeves of his robe. “Tell me, Padawan: What happens to us when we die?”

Now he really did feel like a boy again. This was a question even the youngest of younglings could answer. “We become one with the Force.”

Qui-Gon nodded, as though that settled the matter.

It didn't take a genius to understand what Qui-Gon was getting at. The dead became one with the Force, and the Force was a Jedi's constant companion. In a way, Qui-Gon had never really left.

And yet, Obi-Wan still couldn't shake the feeling of abandonment. He dropped his gaze to his hands clasped in his lap. “There have been so many times I needed your guidance, Master,” he whispered. “And never, not once, did I hear your voice.”

“And were you listening?” Qui-Gon's voice was gentle, oh so gentle, but still it made shame swirl in Obi-Wan's gut.

Because he hadn't been listening. He had closed himself off from the Force for so long, terrified of being found out, of being hunted down, of unintentionally betraying Luke to those who would kill him in an instant. And if he didn't leave even the slightest crack open for the Force to seep through, that meant Qui-Gon couldn't reach him either.

He really was like a child. A child with his fingers in his ears, demanding to know why no one would talk to him.

A warm brush of the Force, like a consoling hand placed on his back. Qui-Gon didn't even have to say anything, because he had already said it a thousand times, in a thousand situations over the years they'd worked together. Accept the shame, then let it go. You are not your mistakes. Learn from them, and they will help you grow.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan envisioned his lungs filling with stale air from the years he had languished here on Tatooine. The years he had let the burden of his guilt press down on his shoulders till he could hardly raise his head in the morning. Then he breathed out, imagining the guilt and shame floating out like wisps of smoke on the air.

Opening eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, Obi-Wan turned to look at Qui-Gon again. “I called to you when I went to face Vader.”

Qui-Gon nodded, eyes warm with compassion. “I was there.”

“I needed you...so many times...here on Tatooine.”

“I was there.”

Qui-Gon's form wavered, and Obi-Wan blinked, letting tears trickle into his beard. “When...I went to confront Anakin...on Mustafar...when I-I thought that I had...that I had....”

All he could see was his master's eyes, full of sympathy and compassion, understanding and acceptance. “I was there, Obi-Wan.”

For a moment, he held Qui-Gon's gaze. Then he dropped his head into his hands and let the tears flow. “So...every time....”

“Always.”

“You saw...every time I've failed....”

“And every success.” Like a warm blanket, Qui-Gon's presence folded around him in an embrace he felt in the depths of his soul. “I am proud of you, Obi-Wan. You have become a greater man and a greater Jedi than I ever could have foreseen.”

The heat of the twin suns seemed lodged permanently in Obi-Wan's chest. “Only because of your guidance, Master.”

They smiled at each other, and even though they looked nothing like they had when Obi-Wan had been an apprentice, the connection between them was as strong as ever.

[goodlucktai]

29 with Mikey and Leo please!

29. “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

x

It really was his own fault. If Mikey didn’t want to be babied, he shouldn’t have broken his wrist. 

He was mostly just annoyed it happened in such a boring way, catching himself wrong falling off his skateboard.

Yes he’d decided to sneak off and find a sewer tunnel to attempt the full pipe loop a full two weeks before Draxum said the gross mystic mandrake tea would finish running its course, but he felt fine! His hands barely shook anymore, only when he overworked himself or let himself get too tired or too excited.

But from the look on everyone’s faces when he slunk home ungraciously dragging his board behind him, you’d think he was at death’s door. 

What was worse, Donnie wheeled him by the shoulders into the infirmary and deposited him right in front of Leonardo, the only person Mikey couldn’t out-stubborn, whose affable smile faded at once into that serious look that made all of his siblings straighten their spines and pay attention.  

If the skateboarding accident had happened pre-almost-apocalypse, Dr. Leo would have probably led with a joke instead of, “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

Mikey resigned himself to a ridiculous amount of mother-henning for the duration his arm was stuck in its short cast. His brothers took his newly fragile hands so personally, like they were the ones who couldn’t hold an inking pen or color inside the lines or even cook a meal more complicated than lasagna without having to give up in the middle and have someone else take over. Like they were the ones who woke up shaking in the middle of the night from some distant, half-forgotten dream of disappearing into fragments of light, arms radiating pain like it was their job, a confused jumble of grief and fear and farewell on his tongue until he went and climbed into bed with papa or Raphie and let them hug it all away. 

Leo said Mikey’s wrist wouldn’t need the full six-to-twelve weeks that a baseline human’s would due to their genetic modifications—“Thank you, Barry,” they had chorused in varying degrees of sincerity (Mikey, Raph and Casey) and sarcasm (Leo, Donnie and Splinter)—but that he still needed to give it time to heal.

“You’re the toughest guy I know,” Leo had said, poking Mikey on the beak to stall the inevitable whine, “but you gotta give yourself a break, Miguelito.” 

He said it like his skin wasn’t still bruised like a peach and his shell all wired together from going one-on-one with an actual living nightmare even as he found the energy to take care of someone else. 

He sat there in the doctor’s seat, pressing carefully around the wet fiberglass to mold it to Mikey’s wrist, all his attention bent to the task. He always tended to his brothers’ hurts the same way, as if it was the most important and remarkable thing he’d ever do. 

Leo’s own casts had only been removed last month, and he was usually very good about following his own medical advice, if only because he knew his siblings would cite his behavior in a heartbeat if it meant they could loophole around doctor’s orders. So Mikey really had no choice but to sulk and accept the distant cousin of scolding he received. 

“It’s not a race,” Leo said, smiling at him. “No one’s gonna run off without you. Where would we go that’s half as good as where you’re at?” 

It was his knee-jerk reaction to smile at Mikey, like his day got better automatically when Mikey was in it, and it soothed that jangling, frustrated thing inside of Mikey’s chest that only got loud when no one took him seriously. Leo always took him seriously, was always the first of their siblings to believe he could do anything he said he could do, and that meant taking Mikey’s injuries seriously, too. 

He’d seen the way Leo had to run himself ragged making sure Donnie kept up with the treatments to his shell and Raph followed instructions on taking care of his eye to the letter. They were trying to spare Leo additional stress, but if they knew they were only compounding the stress he was already in and making it ten times worse, Mikey was pretty sure they’d shut up and take their medicine. 

Mikey wanted to be on Leo’s team, not playing against him. So he put his sulk away and put on his best listening face instead, rewarded when some nearly-invisible line of tension in Leo’s shoulders relaxed until it was gone.

Besides, it wasn’t all bad. He got to pick what color cast he wanted, and got everyone to sign it. And it wasn’t the most horrible thing in the world not to have to do any chores. 

And when Leo announced to the lair as a whole that he was going to visit his tío Hueso and bring back pizzas for dinner—in a tone that made it very clear he was not asking for permission or inviting any worrywart older siblings along—he followed it up with, “You coming, Angie?” 

Maybe because he had been under the scrutiny of worrywart older siblings, too, and understood better than anybody how close Mikey was to biting the next person who tried to baby him. Or maybe because Mikey was the exception to Leo’s rules and he always had been—always invited and always welcome and always wanted. 

In another place, in another time, Leo asked Mikey to die for him, and Mikey died for him. 

In this kinder one, Mikey jumped to his feet with a grin and said, “I’m with you!” and it didn’t cost him anything.

It should have been silly to say something out loud that they both knew was true, but sometimes it was nice to hear it.

[annalu86]

My TO

“So what was your training officer like, Officer Chen?”

The reactions of the group around the small table couldn’t have been more different upon hearing this simple question.

John Nolan’s eyes grew wide, he lent forwards slightly in his chair, becoming very interested in his lunch in front of him. His eyes regularly darting to watch the reactions of his friends and colleagues.

Angela Lopez on the other hand lent back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest openly taking in the scene in front of her. Ready.

Lucy Chen let out a slightly nervous cough of surprise as she was mid bite of sandwich, she began chewing frantically so that she could answer the question before someone, mostly likely Angela, could embarrass her.

And lastly Tim Bradford. Who upon Arriving at the table had smiled politely at the new face, who he knew to be Johns new rookie (Nolan had lent across and quietly whispered “Tim Bradford, Metro Liaison sgt” as way of an introduction), and taken his seat next to Lucy. Brushing the quickest kiss against her cheek as he sat, they were both in uniform after all, he hungrily set about demolishing the sandwich Lucy had pushed in front of him. Tim’s demeanour didn’t change upon hearing the question, his eyes didn’t flicker, his focus on the food of in front of him unswerving.

“Please” Lucy said, still swallowing sandwich “it’s lunch time, call me Lucy” she stalled

“Ok, Lucy” Officer Mason smiled “Officer Nolan has been so kind, so helpful! I’ve learnt so much already” she enthuses glancing at John who preens despite the obvious attempt at flattery “and I’ve met Detective Harper, who I know helped train Officer Nolan and Detective Lopez here was also a TO. Everyone seems so different, style wise. So how was your experience?”

“Yeah Lucy, how was your experience?” Angela grins widely, earning the briefest of glares from Lucy

“It was great actually!” Lucy says cheerfully, an involuntary snort of surprise erupts from John, earning him his own glare from Lucy. Tim’s focus remained on his lunch. “He taught me so much and made me the Officer I am today” Officer Mason nodded happily.

“It was all smooth sailing then Officer Chen?” John wasn’t going to let the months hed spent listening to Lucy moan about her nightmare TO slide just because Tim was now her boyfriend!

“Well…” the smile on Lucy’s face dropping for a split second to deliver another well aimed glare at John “if it had all been easy I wouldn’t have learnt as much”

“That’s so true!” Officer Mason enthused “it’s so important to learn from your mistakes” lucy nodded kindly.

“And you always got along?” Angela couldn’t help but take her turn

“No one gets along all the time, spending all that time alone together. There are going to be disagreements, but you work through them as adults, as professionals” Lucy finishes with flourish. She can’t help but notice the slight smile creeping at the corner of Tim’s mouth.

“So it was always very professional?” Angela pressed, before Lucy could wonder what she was getting at Angela continued “he was never unreasonable in his expectations? Didn’t punish you for simple mistakes?”

“Angela” there was a warning note in Lucy’s tone but Angela just grinned. Tim, nearing the end of his meal continued to keep his head down and ignore them all.

“He didn’t ever kick you out the shop and make you walk?”

“Or take your duty belt on a bathroom break” John added helpfully

“ Didn’t get you into a fist fight with a man twice your size”

“Or refuse to let you wear short sleeves in the middle of summer”

“Didn’t” Angela and John were in full swing now “take a picture of you when you fell asleep during a night shift, get it printed on a bunch of shirts and then pass them out around the station!”

“I’d forgotten about that one!” John said with a roaring laugh, turning to an increasingly shocked looking Officer Mason “I wear mine when I garden”

“Didn’t nickname you the goat whisperer, didn’t set a powder bomb off in your face, didn’t”

“Enough” said Lucy quickly eyes flicking between Tim and Officer Mason, trying to judge each persons reaction to the retelling of Rookie Chen’s adventures with her TO. “I think Officer Mason has got the idea” she laughs gently.

Tim, having finished his meal quietly began clearing up his trash.

“I look back on my time as a Rookie with nothing but appreciation and fondness, like I said, it made me the cop I am today. I’m very grateful to my TO for that.

“Wow.” Officer Mason shook her head from side to side “honestly it sounds like a bit of a nightmare! I haven’t heard any of the other rookies mention anything like that, please tell me he’s moved away from being a training officer now”

“Yeah, actually” Lucy says with a grin “I was his last Rookie”

“Except for the one after you that washed out” Angela whispered, as helpful as ever.

“Is he still in the LAPD? What’s he doing now?” Officer Mason gulps, eyes wide.

The sound of chair legs scraping across concrete draws everyone’s attention suddenly as Tim pushes to his feet

“I think he’s the metro liaison sgt now right?” And with that he simply leans down and once again plants a soft kiss on Lucy’s cheek, then silently turns and strides away.

Lucy can't help but chuckle as Officer Mason's already wide eyes bulge and her mouth opens and closes a few times, like a goldfish.

"He really was a great TO, a total pain in the ass, but a great TO" Lucy smiles at the young woman reassuringly.

"And as a boyfriend?" Angela asks, having clearly enjoyed watching it all play out.

"Still great.." Lucy grins wickedly "still a total pain in the ass!"

# Add tags to help people find your posts

[crinkled-emotions]

jake + 25 (from the 2022 list) or Jake + 1 (2024 list)

maybe with bradley as unwilling/less than thrilled caretaker if you’d like? (or not i don’t really mind im just happy to be here hehe💛💛)

Anon please know I never forgot this, it just took me so much longer because I dislocated my shoulder at reformer pilates 🤦‍♂️. I also went away for three weeks but that's mostly unrelated.

Jake + 1 "I'm not hungover, just sick" (or vice versa)

I saw twisters before I went to Victoria for a month and GIRL (gn) if I wasn't so stale with my writing I'd be smashing out all the fics about that dude with a huge... cowboy hat.

Resting his body against the doorframe to the ensuite in a move all too familiar, Rooster raised an eyebrow.

"How many did you have last night?"

Hangman, better known as Jake, sweetheart, or asshole depending on who he was terrorising, slowly lifted his head from the toilet.

"Roo, didn't you ever learn it's rude to ask a lady that?"

Bradley leaned down, offering him a hand.

"Nothing's rude when it's you. C'mon, I've got toast for you."

Jake grumbled, wrapping an arm around Bradley's shoulder and letting him take most of his weight as they headed for their bedroom door. His stomach flipped and Jake grasped Bradley's shoulder.

"Stop, wait."

Rooster did as asked, frowning as he rubbed slow circles on his partner's back. They stood still for a moment while Jake tried to keep his insides... inside. Considering it was still relatively early in the morning, they could afford to take the morning routine at a slower pace.

"I'm gonna puke again," Jake complained. Bradley sighed, turning them back toward the bathroom.

-

Taking a seat beside Rooster in the meeting room, Phoenix leaned over to whisper to him.

"Hangman was really drunk last night; you two good?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I didn't realise he was that fucked up."

"Dude."

Phoenix sent Rooster a look, reaching for her pen.

"Do you not remember when he landed himself on your lap and didn't say a word for the rest of the night?"

Rooster did in fact remember that; he'd been in the middle of a conversation with Coyote and Bob when Jake had ambled over and plonked himself right on Bradley's lap. He'd then turned his head from the group and stayed there the rest of the night. In all honesty, Bradley just figured the alcohol had hit him a little harder than he'd expected but he couldn't remember Jake drinking that much.

"And then when he puked in the parking lot-"

That Bradley didn't remember.

"Wait- what?"

Phoenix's eyebrows furrowed and she tilted her head.

"Wait; did Jake not tell you?"

"When was this?"

Phoenix thought for a moment.

"It was really early. Fanboy ran back to his truck to grab his wallet and saw Jake tossing cookies."

Rooster checked the time on his phone, glancing toward the door. Jake had said he was going to the bathroom before their meeting but that had been almost ten minutes ago. Phoenix gently nudged his side.

"Go see if he's okay."

"I hate when he doesn't tell me shit. I'll be back."

Rooster stood, grabbing his water bottle from his bag and exiting the meeting room.

-

The men's room was a little too quiet for Bradley to be confident Jake wasn't in there. For someone who was the life of every party ever, the minute he wasn't feeling well he got... sneaky. Bradley was so used to it he walked to the furthest stall from the entrance to the bathrooms and gently knocked on the door.

"Can you let me in?" He requested. The lock clicked and Bradley found Jake sitting on the closed toilet lid, looking mildly unimpressed.

"Do you know my dump schedule or something?"

"Sure. C'mon, I'm taking you home."

"Did you clear it with Maverick?"

Bradley raised an eyebrow as if to say dude c'mon. Jake stood.

"Fine."

"Fine," Rooster mocked as he put his arm around Jake's waist and led him out of the (mildly disgusting) bathrooms. As an afterthought he swiped his hand across his boyfriend's forehead and Jake instantly recoiled.

"What are you, my mother?"

"Your mom doesn't hold a candle to me."

They shared a look. Jake stepped back into Bradley's arms, silent as the taller of the pair directed them to the exit.

-

"Now, here's what I'm thinking."

"Wow, did it hurt?"

"That's so cute."

Rooster leaned on the doorframe to the bathroom in a manner similar to that morning with an unamused look on his face, down to only wearing his boxers and a t-shirt. They'd come home and Jake had immediately started vomiting again (in the laundry sink, of all the places) so Bradley had called out for the day, a little worried he'd missed something a little more severe than a mildly unimpressed stomach. When they'd migrated upstairs it had triggered another bout of dry heaving. Jake, having shifted from on his knees by the toilet to sitting beside it with his eyes closed, grimaced.

"If I ever give Tasha shit for puking when she's drunk again, shoot me."

"Never."

Bradley stopped by the sink to grab a damp washcloth and, in a move he remembered his mom doing when he was younger, gently placed it on the back of Jake's neck.

"Are you going to be a pain in the ass if I take you to urgent care tonight?"

"I suddenly feel better," Jake deadpanned. His eyes remained closed. Bradley sighed.

"I expected as much. Go get in bed, I'll get you water."

"Roos."

Rooster paused, brushing his hand through his boyfriend's hair.

"I know."

-

It was like the world stopped spinning the second Jake got himself horizontal in bed. He'd been up and down all night, desperate not to wake his insomniac at best boyfriend, making frantic dashes in order not to hurl on the carpet in their bedroom. By the time Bradley's alarm had gone off there had been no hiding the smell of puke in their ensuite and the jig was up. Considering the night before, Bradley had just assumed he was hungover and that was how Jake wanted it. If he was hungover Bradley tended to be a lot less sympathetic and the last thing Jake wanted was to worry him.

Lying flat on his back, eyes closed, he kind of wished Bradley wasn't such a good person. It could be suffocating sometimes, coming from parents who were emotionally detached at best, to someone who loved with their whole heart. When Jake brought up how easy Bradley found it to love people he always credited his mom and her big heart.

"Here, I got water and crackers."

Jake opened his eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of said boyfriend coming into their room, pausing by his side of the bed with something before rounding to Jake and gently cupping the back of his neck.

"Sit up, you need to drink some of this."

Jake did as asked, relieved when Bradley's hand didn't move from it's spot. He offered the bottle of water and Jake hesitantly took a couple of sips, grimacing when it lit a spark of nausea and impending doom in him. When he didn't start gagging again he had another few sips then handed it back to his boyfriend. Bradley sat on the edge of the bed by his legs, squeezing Jake's hand.

"How are you feeling?"

"Rough," Jake finally admitted, "I thought I was hungover."

"I'm sorry, baby, I thought you were hungover too. How long have you been feeling like this?"

Jake shrugged.

"Couple days- the puking started last night, Roos, I swear if it started earlier I wouldn't have been drinking."

"Gatorade coming your way."

Bradley handed over the bottle, cool enough to soothe his throat but not enough to make his stomach hurt. Jake took slow sips, leaning against his boyfriend's shoulder when Bradley shifted to sit beside him.

"I'm just hungover," Bradley scoffed with a snort as he reached for his phone. Jake elbowed him in the ribs.

"Don't be mean, I'm sick."

"And now he's sick!"

"Roos."

Jake levelled his boyfriend with his best innocent face and Bradley sighed as he pulled Jake into his side.

"You're lucky you're not an asshole all the time."

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (132-133)

From the self-indulgent lows of finding out there's fic about you and your secret husband, to the legitimate lows of Bryce's final few months in Calgary.

If you want to read along, the series page is here.

132. Addressing the Audience

Treating myself by breaking the fourth wall a bit.

Jared fucks up his ankle with the most perfect timing in the world — right before the Canucks are off on their first official roadie. A roadie that includes Edmonton and Calgary, among other cities. It’s not too bad, he’s assured repeatedly, all ‘could have been worse’ positivity that would bug him more if it hadn’t been so close — he found a rut and he went down like he was shot, didn’t even fucking know what was happening, barely managed to brace himself. He could have snapped his ankle, landed on his wrist and broken it or his arm, blown his knee out. He got lucky.

Jared has actually been supremely lucky on the injury front throughout his career. When he does get injured, it’s not for long, and often could be worse.

Being injured is frustrating. And boring. Jared’s bored. Jared’s bored, and mad, because the Canucks are in Edmonton and Jared is not, and he couldn’t even sneak his way on the plane because there’s no way he’s game ready by the end of the road trip, plus he has appointments and check-ins constantly so he can’t like, fly off to Calgary in the guise of being moral support for the team. If it was a little better he could have flown with the team, if it was worse he could have gone back to Calgary to recuperate. He’s in an annoying fucking middle as far as LTIR goes.

Jared is a worse patient than Bryce in every measurable way. He should have been reminded of this incessently when Bryce was recuperating, but the ones dealing with it were mostly Elaine and Stephen. Elaine's too nice, and Jared (mostly) knew better than to bitch about Bryce taking his injury poorly to a dude whose hockey career abruptly ended at the age of 21.

Julius plays a hell of a game — Jared is not sulking ‘like a scowly little baby’ that they can’t hang out after, despite what one Stephen Petersen says

Who do you believe, Stephen Petersen or a scowly little baby?

Would have won by more if I was there, Jared texts Julius, and gets an eyeroll emoji from him right around the time he would have gotten his second star of the game, wrapped up media, retreated to his stall. He texted Jared pre-shower. That’s touching. Jared’s touched.

Jared says this sarcastically but he is 100% legitimately touched.

“He’s sulking,” Stephen tells Gabe.

“I’m not sulking,” Jared mumbles.

“Couple more weeks,” Gabe says. “Just be happy you didn’t do it when we finally got to go somewhere warm.”

“You’re flying to my husband’s city tomorrow,” Jared mutters. “What the fuck do I care about the weather.”

“Our baby’s cranky, Gabe,” Stephen says, then, “Fuck off, you don’t hit the driver!”

Stephen’s baby has gone from infancy to a sullen teenager, apparently.

And yes, never hit the operator of heavy machinery, even if he deserves it.

Stephen bitches about it, but considering he’s the one picking Jared up and driving him home — he’s still not allowed to drive, which is annoying — Jared is pretty sure he doesn’t mind. It is literally within his control how often Jared’s there.

He’s onto you, Stephen.

By the time Stephen returns he’s googled their names together and found like — stories. About them. And gifs. And something called a ‘ship primer’ which has a lot of information about him and Bryce. Like, an uncomfortable amount. Like technically public knowledge but you’d have to be really interested. And puts together some pieces way more cleanly than Jared would like.

Twenty minutes could bring you very, very far down that particular rabbit hole.

“What do you mean ‘they do that’?” Jared says.

Stephen yawns. “A small contingent are convinced Gabe and Dmitry are dating, have been for like, a literal decade, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

And that doesn’t infuriate Stephen at ALL.

“I wouldn’t call Dmitry good looking,” Jared says. “And Gabe—”

“You say a single disparaging word about Gabe and you’re clomping home on that injured ankle of yours after I kick it,” Stephen says.

Valid.

“—is very handsome,” Jared says, who is one-hundred percent Stephen would be petty enough to do it, and his painkillers haven’t kicked in yet. “Best looking Canuck by far.”

“Overselling it, Matheson,” Stephen says dryly. “Everyone’s fully aware you’re the prettiest princess of them all.”

Your occasional reminder that Jared is fucking beautiful, no matter how much he minimizes it.

“Pretend you never saw them,” Stephen says. “Pretend they don’t exist. Selective amnesia. That’s what Gabe does.”

“What do you do?” Jared says.

“Find it deeply offensive on Gabe’s behalf that anyone would think he would have such poor standards as to date Dmitry Kurmazov,” Stephen says.

Don’t talk to him about the Gabe Markson/Jake Lourdes fics in existence.

“I will confiscate that from you,” Stephen says. “That is going ten steps further down the road from googling yourself to read about your play. Don’t do it. Leave it to PR.”

“PR knows about this?” Jared asks.

Oh you better believe PR knows about it.

“Be like Gabe,” Stephen says. “Selective amnesia.”

It sounds like a good tack to take. One that Jared will probably be incapable of, but a good one.

“There’s probably more about you and Halla anyway,” Stephen says.

Stephen immediately following good advice with being a shit-stirrer. And he is correct on this matter as well. He knows a good bromance when he sees one.

Jared has forgotten everything. Jared has forgotten everything, so he is not obligated to tell his husband that there are stories about them, knowing that Bryce would panic, and he is not aware that E means explicit, as in explicit sex, meaning that people have written about fictional stories about him, Jared Matheson, having sex, and he is not completely enraged that there are, in fact, more stories about him and Julius than there are about him and Bryce.

Nothing Happened.

“How’s your morning babe?” Bryce says when Jared calls him over breakfast.

“Oh, fine, good, y’know,” Jared says. “I mean, not fine, injured, which sucks but like — considering.”

I think he does an admirable job not immediately blurting out ‘do you know people write about us having sex?’ frankly.

“I’m drinking from your Eeyore mug,” Bryce says. “If like. You want a pathetic image of how much I miss you. And Chaz threatened to kill me yesterday if I didn’t stop sighing.”

Sooooft.

“I really fucking miss you, Bryce,” Jared says before he can stop himself.

“I really fucking miss you too,” Bryce says, and Jared’s eyes are stinging when Bryce has to hang up to go to work.

Oh boys.

133. Affliction

Jared’s back on the ice for literally one game before Bryce fucks up his shoulder. They’re cursed. They have to be.

“You play a high impact contact sport professionally,” Stephen says when Jared says as much, talking to Jared likes he’s a toddler. “Injuries are inevitably a part of it.”

“Cursed,” Jared insists.

Yes, it is that shoulder. Again. By the time Bryce was broken by a baby it was hanging on by a thread.

He’s a big sulky baby when he’s particularly sore, and Jared will never, ever tell him it’s kind of endearing because obviously he shouldn’t encourage that sort of behaviour.

He will no longer find it endearing later, so it is probably good he never did tell him that.

The Bryceless Flames fly into town. Jared gets dinner with Chaz and does not sulk through it, no matter what Chaz says. Chaz should appreciate his presence.

Everywhere Chaz goes, a big sulky baby can be found.

Jared thinks about that moment a lot in the coming months: Bryce and his bright eyes and the coiled tension in his body, the excitement to get back on the ice, to play his game, to help his team. Bryce like a little kid on Christmas. Bryce happy.

Bryce stops smiling when he gets back.

Wow, chill with that scene transition, Satan.

It’s this ugly feedback loop, where the worse Bryce plays, the worse the media and the fanbase lands on him. It gets into his head. Bryce is shaken, you don’t need to be married to him to see he has absolutely zero confidence in himself right now, will pass instead of shoot, hesitate just long enough for the puck to get taken away. He gets a few, a player as talented as him is always going to get a few, but every time it seems like his offence is coming back it slips right through his fingers.

It is always stunning, how much an elite player can deteriorate in a perfect storm. It can honestly go from 'people fight over rights to me on their fantasy teams' to 'this man cannot hockey'.

And it’s fucking killing Bryce, he’s angry and sad and empty and numb at turns every time Jared talks to him, and Jared lets him vent, listens when Bryce needs him to listen, says all the reassuring things that are cliche because they’re true. All players have slumps. He just needs to get his confidence back. He needs to stop overthinking things and just go out and play hockey. Things Bryce’s coach is telling him, things Chaz is probably telling him. He must be sick of hearing them by now but he never cuts Jared off, lets Jared say them, maybe because he knows it makes Jared feel a little better, because at least saying something isn’t doing nothing.

Trade deadline day’s always an anxious one, but Jared feels genuinely sick going into it.

We just spanned over two months in one paragraph, because this is an Upper Case Series, and things would get downright lowercase if we hadn’t. Plus, you know. It’s just going to get worse, so.

Bryce has a no-move clause in the back-end of his contract, but it doesn’t kick in until the offseason, so he could be headed anywhere right now.

Not anywhere, anywhere, but it’s a 15 team no trade list at the moment, so half of anywhere. And huh, interesting fact about that upcoming no move clause, huh?

It’s a 3 team trade list, otherwise NMC, which I'd say is almost unrealistically pro-player, but a) Bryce left a not insignificant amount of money on the table at the time to secure it, because he was all in on Jared Matheson long before Jared was comfortable acknowledging that, and Jared should be settled into his team/career at 22 and b) the RL San Jose Sharks had like five players with one of those at one point. Sorry for any pain that any Sharks fan just experienced. You’re already suffering enough this season.

Chaz was the only fucking guy on that team that gives a shit about Bryce. So now it’s going to be nobody. Nobody in Bryce’s corner, nobody to hang out with on roadies, or team dinners, nobody to invite him over so he doesn’t go back into that shell he keeps hiding in, shutting out the world like it’ll help.

Bryce still has Ashley when in Calgary (they in fact hang out MORE after, because they're both pretty lonely), but yeah, he’s now completely at sea in that Flames room.

“Did you punch through our wall?” Jared says.

Bryce’s silence is sheepish.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your fucking hand,” Jared snaps. He’s probably going to have to ask his dad to fix it, because fuck knows he doesn’t trust the discretion of some random Calgarian contractor not to spread a ‘Bryce Marcus Punched a Wall (We Presume Because He Wanted to Be Traded, That Ingrate)’ to add fuel to the fire. “Are you icing it?”

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “I just — he was literally the only good part of playing for the Flames right now. Everything else is shit, and it’s just — fuck.”

Obviously not an IDEAL way to react (especially because injuring himself at this juncture would be brutal), but considering where Bryce’s head is right now, it could have been much worse.

“Can you like, tie me to your bed and refuse to let me leave at the end?” Bryce says.

Look, he’d never refuse to report, but he thinks ‘kidnapped and tied to bed’ would make it not his fault. Also it sounds fun.

Bryce looks — rough when he gets to Vancouver, empty-handed slump shouldered at Jared’s door. It’s kind of a shock. Like, Jared’s seen pictures, clips of play, seen him on video calls, but it isn’t until he’s within arms reach, face to face, that he can see how washed out Bryce is, exhausted, like some kind of source of — light or something has burnt out.

He is already so burnt out at this point, and he still has the rest of the season and postseason to go.

What they do is a lot more violent than a hug, though that’s the closest word Jared can think of, Bryce breathing fast in his ear like he just got off a shift, Jared’s ribs aching, Bryce crushing the breath out of his lungs, and Jared doesn’t give a fuck, he doesn’t, he holds on just as tight and he lets it hurt for as long as Bryce needs it to.

It’s so blindingly obvious Bryce adores Jared. Less obvious the other way around, even though we’re in Jared’s head, but man, Jared loves Bryce so fucking much.

“I need you to be like, within arm’s reach until I have to leave,” Bryce says. “I know that sounds pathetic, but—”

“It doesn’t,” Jared says. “I can do that. Like, maybe not during the game, that’d raise some eyebrows, but—”

Bryce’s laugh sounds torn out of him. Jared wants to burn the entire city of Calgary down. He’ll tell his family to get out first.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Bryce says, voice so small, and Jared holds on tighter.

So fucking much. (The Mathesons and Murrays appreciate the heads up.)

“And if someone notices you just ghosted?” Jared says.

“Mom lives here,” Bryce says. “Can just say I fell asleep at her place. I doubt they’d get all worked up.”

“But if they do?” Jared asks. Usually that’d be true, but Jared is extremely aware how thin the ice Bryce is standing on is right now. Bryce is aware of that too.

Jared got a midnight knock on the door from his coach due to bullshit politics, so not an invalid concern on his part.

“I literally don’t care, Jared, if they’re going to act like I’m a fucking problem child I’ll be a fucking problem child,” Bryce snaps.

This has been Bryce’s attitude for so many situations in his life (with the Flames, with Calgary media, with Dave, with the camp, preemptively with his mom very briefly in his teens as a sort of 'will you still love me if I am a total douchebag to you?'/too cool to be nice to mom thing but it made her sad and that made him sad so he stopped real quick) and it really doesn’t do him any favours.

“I just want to have like, one night where I get to be with you and just be me and not to think about their bullshit and I just—” Bryce says. “Can we have that?”

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Of course.”

“Thanks,” Bryce says. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me for being like, a bare minimum husband,” Jared says.

“You’re a maximum husband,” Bryce says earnestly.

“Okay but like am I allowed to make fun of you right now?” Jared says.

Bryce’s eyes narrow.

“Because that was like the worst fucking—” Jared says, and laughs when Bryce bites his shoulder.

The emotional range here from Bryce being angry and clipped, to unironically calling Jared a maximum husband, to biting him. And Jared going with Bryce when Bryce needs it and taking the piss out of him for being soft. He’s gotten so much better at teasing Bryce without trodding on his feelings at this point.

Jared skates over to centre ice, but Bryce isn’t looking at him, doesn’t see him, and after a moment, feeling awkward, he skates back over to Gabe.

This is quietly one of the saddest sentences to me. Also really says something about just how bad Bryce’s headspace is right now, because that man has an internal Jared alert system installed by this point.

[seresinsbabe]

Some Strings Attached

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem!reader

Synopsis: It was supposed to be a quick fuck. No strings attached. That was all. But six weeks later when you’re staring at two pink lines you realize there were some strings attached. And now you have no idea how to find the father because you only know his first name.

Warnings: discussions of pregnancy symptoms, pregnancy tests, mention of abortion, doctors visits, ultrasounds, general early pregnancy stuff that may trigger some

Word Count: 2.2k

THIS BLOG AND ITS FICS ARE 18+! MINORS DNI!

I do not consent to having any of my work shared on any other platform. If you see any rendition of my works on another site know that it has been posted without my permission.

Prologue | Masterlist | Next Chapter

You ran through the next few weeks on autopilot. Things at work were so busy between the big case you were helping on and trying to study for the Bar exam. And the lease on your apartment was ending in the next few months. The leasing office had been bugging you about renewing, but you just weren’t sure if you wanted to yet. It was a nice enough apartment, but you were starting to feel like you needed more space. It was only a one bedroom and San Diego was going to be your home again. It was time to put down some actual roots. Your parents would always let you move in with them until you found a house. Not to mention your car was starting to become unreliable. Just the other day it stalled in the middle of an intersection that thankfully wasn’t busy. 

With all this going on you hadn’t noticed the changes happening in your body. The sudden upswing in nausea you had barely noticed and when you did you attributed it to a pattern of forgetting to eat because you were so deep into your work. You hadn’t even noticed the tenderness in your breasts, perhaps because no one, including yourself had touched them in a way you’d notice the tenderness. You’d been feeling extra tired but you just attributed that to the amount of work you’d been doing. It wasn’t until your nausea hit the breaking point of vomiting one morning when Cassie was over that your mind even went there.

“Wha-no! I mean ma-no!” You vehemently shook your head as Cassie looked at you with wide, nervous eyes. “I’m on the pill!” You were religious in the way you took it…okay well that was a lie. If anyone was a serial pill forgetter it was you. 

“Yeah but didn’t you forget them at your parents house that weekend?” Your eyes went wide and you felt sick again at the realization. That night you hadn’t been taking your pill and you hadn’t used a condom and…he didn’t pull out. 

“Ohmygod. Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Your finger wove through your hair, gripping so hard at the root that it was a bit painful. “What am I going to do? A kid? Am I even ready to be a mom? I don’t even know his last name!” The tailspin was starting and Cassie knew she was going to have to stop the spiral before it got out of control. 

Softly she grabbed your wrists and pried your fingers out of your hair. It was like you were paralyzed with shock as your best friend pulled you into a tight hug. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I mean period and pregnancy symptoms are the same. It could just be your time of the month. Come on, I’ll go with you to get some tests.” Cassie was right. It could very well just be your period showing up. You nodded and let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. 

No words were spoken as she grabbed both of your purses and pulled you out the front door. There was a CVS not far from your apartment. Your body was wrought with nerves at buying a pregnancy test in your hometown, but San Diego was big enough and the parking lot was still mostly empty with it being morning that you didn’t think you would run into anyone. You were coming close to your twenty-seventh birthday anyway. Buying a pregnancy test was common for people your age, but that didn’t make it any less awkward in your mind.

Ten minutes later you stood in the family planning aisle of the pharmacy. There were so many tests you had no idea what ones to get. Digital? Not digital? Clearblue? First response? How was it that you graduated law school at the top of your class but you couldn’t pick a fucking pregnancy test?

Cassie showed back up at your side, a bottle of wine and a multitude of snacks in the basket on her arm. 

“Wine?” You raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah, for us to celebrate if it’s negative.”

“And if it’s positive?”

“Then I’ll drink the bottle for the both of us.” You let out a biting laugh and turned back to the tests. Cassie’s hand popped up in your view, plucking a pink box with a set of three tests. “I remember seeing a couple boxes of these in my sister’s bathroom when she was trying for Stella.” That was all the convincing you needed.

You guys were in the home stretch. Standing in line behind some old lady picking up a pack of depends and prune juice when the door chime went off. Your leg was bouncing and you were staring at the floor when a familiar voice spoke out.

“Well look what we have here!” If a black hole was going to open up and swallow you whole you wished it would happen sooner rather than later.

Looking up you spotted hair so bleached it was unnaturally white, especially when paired with the overly tanned skin. Libby Wilson. A ghost from high school past that you hoped would stay in the cemetery. Libby had taken the Y2K popular girl trope way too seriously. From the looks of it she still took it too seriously. Most people grew after high school, became different people and changed their looks. Not Libby. Her clothes were a little more modern, but other than that it was as if she was looking at a yearbook picture.

And as if the universe wasn’t shitting on you enough it was like her eyes were drawn to the items in your basket, specifically the box of tests. Her eyes bounced around at the other items and then to you and Cassie. Apparently the bleach hadn’t completely fried her brain and she was still able to connect the dots.

“Oh, honey, aren’t we a little too old for this? I mean we’re not in college anymore.” You didn’t have the fucking mental capacity to deal with this. Normally you would have been quick on your feet with a comeback, but your mind was failing you at the moment. 

Thankfully Cassie’s mind was still working at full capacity. 

“Your husband still seems to be stuck in high school. Or at least he was when I saw him at O'Shaughnessy's with Melanie Baker last weekend.” A smirk tugged at your lips as you watched the anger flash across Libb’s face for a quick second before she regained her composure. 

“Well. Good luck.” It was a sickly sweet call of support before the woman turned and walked towards the pharmacy counter.

You squeezed Cassie’s hand in silent thanks as the old woman finally paid for her items. Your nerves shot back up one ride home, only getting worse the close you got to your apartment. What were you going to do if you were pregnant? There was always an abortion, but did you really want to do that? Yet at the same time could you really juggle being a single mom and starting a law career? Sure, your parents, your siblings and your friends would absolutely help where they could. But you knew yourself, you knew how stubborn you were when it came to accepting help. Even if you needed it. 

And Jake. What were you going to do on that front? All you had was his first name. He could be halfway across the world right now. Even if you did find him, who was to say he would want any part of this? Still, did he deserve to know if you were pregnant? This whole thing was a mess. This was exactly why you didn’t listen to your pussy. Your brain has never steered you wrong.

Three minutes had never felt so long. Your hand was tightly clasped around Cassies as you waited, tears ready to spill no matter the results. The time on your phone went off, but you didn’t move. It was Cassie who made the move to shut the sound off. She stayed still, her eyes on you as she watched to see if you would move. When she realized you weren’t she tentatively pushed herself up from the floor. 

“So?”

“It’s positive.”

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe. Your chest felt tight and at the same time you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You felt the tears rolling down your cheeks but your head spinning so much you weren’t sure if they were real or not. Positive. You were pregnant. A metaphorical window opened and all your plans for the future flew out of it.

Of course you knew you had options. It was your body, it was your life. Despite the heavy feministic views you had you just knew you couldn’t make the decision without at least trying to find Jake. It was only fair. You worked in the legal system, you’d witnessed mothers give up their legal rights. If that was what you so chose to do. Maybe you would come to find you wanted to step up. That you would want to be a mom to the little thing growing inside of you.

Cassie’s voice was what finally brought you out of your second spiral of the day. 

“Don’t freak out yet,” you scoffed. That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one pregnant. “I think you should call your doctor. Set up an appointment to get a blood test. Maybe you just happened to have three false positives?” You gave her a look that said yeah right, but you knew she was just trying to make you feel better. To find a glimmer of hope in a not so sunny situation.

The days leading up to your appointment felt like an out of body experience. Your mind was constantly running, you’d called in sick yesterday, and then again today. Which thankfully, due to your otherwise spectacular attendance, no one questioned it. 

You took a deep breath and it came out shaky. The paper sheet underneath you crinkled as you waited for Dr. Bahn to return with your results. Over the weekend, through a lot of tears with Cass you decided you were going to go through with the pregnancy. 

It wasn’t going to be easy, but you wanted it. You’d always wanted to be a mom, maybe not in this way and not this soon, but you knew you wanted it. As far as Jake was concerned, you were still going to try to find him. You were going to give him the option to be in the child’s life, but you were also going to give him an out. If he didn’t want anything to do with the kid he could waive his rights, you wouldn’t come after him for any child support. He could effectively wipe his hands clean of it all.

A knock at the door signaled the doctor’s return and you sat up straighter. Cassie, who had stuck with you like the dutiful best friend she was, tightened her grip on your hand. Dr. Bahn studied your face, trying to read your expression while hers remained neutral. 

“The blood test came back positive.” Relief you hadn’t been expecting washed over you. Happy tears pricked at your eyes. “Considering the estimated date of conception would put you at about 7 weeks we’re going to go ahead and do the initial ultrasound. I’ll give you a moment to change.” You nodded, watching as the woman exited the room again.

No sooner had the door closed was Cassie asking you how you felt. You just shrugged as you changed out of your clothes, not thinking twice about Cassie being in the room with you. It wasn’t as if she had never seen you naked before during your twenty-two year friendship.

“Relieved? Happy? Nervous? I don’t know, this is a big change.” You answered as she helped tie the robe from behind you. Another knock came and the ultrasound machine was pushed in by a medical assistant. Dr. Bahn followed in, her expression still neutral. It must have been something she’d practiced over the years. It wasn’t until you were crying, a small smile on your face as she pointed out the barely there blip on the screen. 

In the passenger seat of Cassie’s car you stared down at the ultrasound picture, your fingertips lightly brushing over it. It was a quiet moment of solitary bliss before Cassie started up with the questions again. Questions you didn’t want to think about just yet but that you knew you couldn’t really push off. Like when you were going to tell your parents, what you were going to do about your car that was in the shop again, and of course what you were going to do about Jake.

“I’m not going to tell my parents until I figure things out regarding Jake.” It wasn’t that your parents would be overly upset with you, your mom was somewhat of a free spirit and your dad pretty much did whatever she wanted of him, they would probably be happy. After the initial shock wore off, but you knew they would want to know about the father. It was already going to be embarrassing enough for you to tell them the pregnancy was the result of a one night stand, let alone that you had no clue who or where the father was.

Cassie nodded. “Alright, let’s get looking for Mr. Jake.” 

@zbeez-outlet @glenpowellsstargirl @laneyspaulding19 @isakyakiisak @clancycucumber230 @rosewritesitout @crthurston @marvellover91 @the-house-of-rose-and-ember @fighterpilothoe @eternalsams @honeymilkshakesblog @cycbaby @whatislovevavy @cherrycola27 @so-I'm-blue @cassiemitchell @bioodforbiood @mjsvinyl @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @buckystwilight @luvrrish @yourmomssidehoesposts @afterglowsb-tch13 @classyunknownlover @pono-pura-vida @milestomaverick @stiles-banshees @hangmanscoming @alana4610 @itsa-me-marioooo @freshavocadoooo @ravenhood2792 @finelytaylored @fredsandlokiswhore @startrekfangirl2233 @lillie-g98 @one-sweet-gubler @blackwidownat2814 @saskiameyersstuff @hopeless-romanticnamed-s @agentstarkid @lilyhw1 @nobody7102 @cosmic-psychickitty @goldenloverschild @novagreen04 @sophham @algae-tm @darkheartcherry @djs8891

[boyakishantriage]

She stepped, one foot over another as the alien held his breasts high. So, trans people exist, and this motherfucker was yet another pirate. And I'm getting the sensation that the only reason I'm bumping into so many pirates like this, is because the coalition doesn't understand how crime works.

On earth, there was this whole thing where the underground had systems of government sort of. Money, debts. Whatever, ways to make crime in high society and stuff less stupid pains for legal governments, and the only reason I know this fictional system is because my boss has a seat on it.

The Terran circled around, her grip, her stance, her form. All of it was weak, light. A novice with so much bravado, it appeared that this human was all bluff. A fool.

The bell rang, the human holding her ground as she wasted the pirate's time.

Bleck, the planet had several ports, been explored about a third specifically around the ports and as a result. There'd been pirates, when we crashed and the others and I managed to build a settlement around our scattered shuttles, they'd surprised us. Thankfully, the area they found us was a little further away, the cluster of three shuttles leaving the twenty or so crew to be led back and by now Daniel had organised or at least was planning something.

Tribal, that's what the pirates were. Nicking resources, just taking leeching off the network across the room planet in the system, and the Dyson sphere experiment in the area was funneling a lot of resources. The courts had "asked" me to fix it. And the "malfunctioning turrets" meant the humans would take what would be, maybe a weekend of static testing (reading code) and setting up a temporary defence while they troubleshooted the problem, into a month long operation. Mostly by using the order to stall by experimenting with various new types of defences, occasionally "accidentally" causing minor issues meaning our ship had been parked here for six months. My third crash was reaching my halfway point and I frankly. Couldn't care less.

He spotted weakness, that blank stare was her not paying attention. Drawing weapon, he swung.

CLANG.

A blade held his, hooked the Terran sweeping the weapon into the air, forcing him back as she thrust the weapon off the hook towards him. Now standing straight, weapon held parallel as he caught the weapon. Like a statue.

This dance continued for a while, everything the man struck, she'd dodge, duck or disarm him. And he'd get his weapon back, but these light attacks weren't doing anything.

New strategy, the twirled the weapon, swishing the air as he aimed to strike her middle. A block, as he threw a punch, and he was suddenly on his back. Both blades held to his neck.

"one."

She'd toss the blade back at him, relaxing into a new stance. Blade held over her, body stretched like she were between a leap, roll or sprint. The alien for up, eyes following him as he swung for the legs, a kick sweeping across his face as she slammed her elbow into his chest. Throwing her ass out as a foot wrapped around his, the weapon held between her shoulder as she slammed her head into his face. Sending him flying to the floor, pushing off his falling body and landed a little further away, blade now held at her hip.

She's toying with me.

That much was obvious, but her form was perfect. Each strike had anticipated any moves he would do, before he could counter she'd struck blind spots, which forced strikes until he had to get back up.

The alien was finished playing, the tail unfurling as the agile alien held his weapon, practically telling me he was getting serious as we held positions.

Leaping first, jumping between spots and increasing velocity as he twirled, throwing a pair of kicks as he swept down. Blood hit the floor, a gnash on my arm.

The Terran jumped back, legs sweeping away as she proceeded to bandage and disinfect her arm while dashing away from her opponent. Constantly keeping a ruler's length away from him, as she drew her sword.

"Impressive."

"Eh?"

"You treated a wound, while keeping away from me."

"... Ok?"

The two now stood apart from one another, blood no longer dripped to the floor, the man standing still as she caught her breath.

"Tired?"

"nah, just forgot to breath."

"..."

His head turned, as he repeated.

"you forgot. To breath..."

"What?"

"How..."

She shrugged, drawing a second blade.

Hesitation. The Terran could duel wield, a longer lighter weapon and a heavier shorter one, each about as long as her elbow to hand. While she wore what looked like a makeshift leather breastplate, the leather melded together with heat, that was it. Aside from some clothes. Versus his fully leather body armoured, minus the iron vambraces, the two had similar weapons. Ignoring the part where his sword was vibrating at a high frequency, their weapons were similar.

It clicked, her swords were straight. And they hadn't been cut despite being what appeared to be titanium. Just, titanium blades, looking more like modified hoes if nothing else. The Terran then spoke up.

"alright. I can't deal with this silence. Who in Hell are you?"

"... I am Lowe Bymd. Pirate lord."

"Did ya make that name up yourself?"

"Yes."

"Bit childish innit?"

"Excuse me?"

"Pirate lord? What, is there a pirate King over ya?"

"Pardon, but it is pirate Queen"

"Bet she's got a sloppy cunt."

"Excuse me?"

"A whore, wanker. I'm calling your kind a good for nothing whore."

"You mean my mother?"

"Ohhh, so you're a bastard."

"HOW DARE-"

"and you sound like a posh cunt."

"..."

The man drew back, taking a few steps back.

"You're going to regret that."

"regret what nimble legs?"

The deer like alien's limbs flexed, muscles rippling-

"Ooh, and you've got thunder thighs huh?"

Nostrils flared, the man whinnying equally like a deer as he charged forward.

The human was calm, the deer cracking the earth behind him as he gathered speed, the weapon cutting ground like softened butter as she held her sword. Closing her eyes, as the alien drew his weapon back.

"NO ONE INSULTS TO T'VA"

"Loud cunt." She sheathed her blade from beside him, the neck slicing open like a blood balloon. Head snapping as she grabbed the body, sucking the blood out the body.

[chaletnz]

The Home Stretch: Lima to Cusco

The Cusco airport was more of what I’d been expecting - run down and dated without any useful or well-maintained facilities. I was at least able to get myself a map of the area and then headed out to be ripped off by a taxi like a lamb to the slaughter. I had not slept at all in over 24 hours, and there was no free wifi in the airport so I was willing to pay anything for a ride to the hostel so I could lie down and shower. I’d seen articles online saying it should be about 15 soles but he said 40 - in the grand scheme of things $12 for my own taxi in my current state of mind was not bad! There were a lot of stray dogs that I noticed during the drive, and the houses built small and close together with fences topped with bits of broken glass to deter intruders. I had a bit of a wait to get to my room so I sat in the lobby area to plan my afternoon and then a group arrived that I’m convinced are an Intrepid group like the one I’d done in Central America - mostly British, and including a guy who ended up breathing oxygen from a tank since he couldn’t handle the altitude. I showered as soon as I was able, and just in time because they shut off the water to work on some pipes in the courtyard. I laid down for a little bit and then once I was sufficiently hungry I went out for an early dinner of a 1/4 chicken and chips at Super Pollo which was good but super greasy so I needed to burn some of it off with a walk around the San Pedro Central Market and nearby streets. The market was only about half open with a lot of stalls closed for the day already. It was different to other markets I’ve been to too in the sense that people did not harass me to look at their wares, rather I was able to browse openly. It was the perfect temperature to be walking around in a tshirt while I admired all the trinkets and things for sale. I didn’t end up buying anything right away, since whatever I buy I will have to carry around for a month but I have some ideas of what to pick up at similar markets in Lima before I head home. I carried on walking around the small Cusco city centre to see some of the plazas, there was one with a huge crowd of people standing in a circle and some street performers in the middle. There were about six vendors selling popcorn just behind them, and numerous street dogs running around everywhere. One of the dogs peed on one of the popcorn stands which immediately put me off buying any street food! I was totally exhausted by this point so I headed back to the hostel to get some internet and plan out a few things to visit when I have my free days to explore Cusco. The tour ended up calling me ahead of schedule to explain everything important for me to know for my upcoming Machu Picchu tour tomorrow. While I was talking to him a girl sitting nearby had apparently been listening and trying to pick my accent. Her name was Jordyn, she ended up being from Steamboat Springs - very close to where I live in Colorado. Our plans were a little different for the week but after talking for two hours like old friends we arranged to meet up on Thursday for dinner after my day tour of the Rainbow Mountain. At last it was time to sleep at about 7pm after preparing all of my things for the tour and a quick shower in the morning.

[namorslutfanfiction]

hi, idk why but i have the notion of you living in california and i was wondering, would you recommend it?? i know it's expensive but average how much would you spend on a month?? i'd love to know what you think about it. (and if you don't live there i'm sorry lol). hope you're doing well!

Hello, thank you for the ask. I'm finally back on here today to reply to my inbox so you asked at a good time.

I do live in California. Northern. About an hour north east of San Francisco. My town is actually in the top ten most expensive in the country when you compare income verses cost of living. For some perspective, I was looking at a single room apartment or even a studio and unless its government housing for low income, rent starts at 1600 and can go up as high as 2200, if you don't want to live in a bad neighborhood.

As of now I am still unemployed after losing my job earlier this month. I was making decent money there at $22 an hour. As I look for jobs I'm lucky to find anything close to that, that isn't completely out of my wheelhouse of skills. I was also living almost paycheck to paycheck at $22 an hour because I have quite a bit of debt and a car payment/insurance.

Most people out here have roommates or if they can afford their own place usually work as tradesmen or in the medical field. I was working in the casino industry but had an hour commute. Traffic in Norcal is much better than Socal. But the interstate freeways definitely get kind of shitty during rush hour.

Pros of California

Decent weather most of the year. We pretty much always have some sun, barring this past crazy winter.

Very populous so lot's of fun places to go within an hour or two drive no matter where you live. I'm literally an hour from San Francisco, 45 mins to the state capital, 20 minutes to Napa/Sonoma, and there are several universities in the area which increases need for cool activities and outings.

Very diverse and liberal in metropolitan areas. Most people are actually really nice and chill.

Lot's of tech opportunities and start ups

Honestly a lot of industries have a big presence here so if you can put in the work you can find a decent job especially if you live in a big city.

Lot's of cool nature and hiking paths. It's a big state and we love to maintain some of the natural beauty. Beaches, mountain, forest, lakes and deserts. Bunch of national and state parks

No snow unless you're literally on a mountain

Lots of great authentic and diverse food.

Good place for furthering education. We have high level schools that are internationally renown.

We have a ton of farms and during peak seasons its super easy to get fresh produce for cheap from farmers markets, stalls, and fairs.

We have 9 international airports and have access to a lot of imported goods.

Most artists will have multiple CA stops on their tours.

Cons of California

Super high cost of living. Yes our average wages are higher than most states but it doesn't really cover how high cost of living is especially in metropolitan areas.

Rent and housing prices are super high throughout the state unless you live in a super rural area. Also very competitive.

Public transportation is not great even in the cities.

Traffic, especially in LA can add hours to a drive.

You have to have a car if you're not living in the middle of a big city. Most places in CA are pretty spread out and hard to navigate on foot.

WILD FIRE SEASON

39 Million people live in California the last I checked. Socal is more populous than Norcal.

You have to reserve camping spots like a year in advance at the best parks.

Housing shortage has led to a homelessness epidemic. See Skid Row in LA. And those apartments are also super expensive even surrounded by vagrants.

Sometimes the fog is so bad you can't see a few yards in front of you. Mostly during the morning. I used to drive home at 3 am after work and i was going 40 on the highway because it was so foggy.

That's all I can think of at the moment. But if you have any other questions feel free to message me or send another ask.

[lizascribes]

What is life like in Melbourne? I’m looking into moving there from the UK and would love some insights and whatever else from people who live and work there 💕

Hi So I lived in Melbourne for only about a year and moved back to my home country Cambodia about six months ago.

Tbh I had a fun but difficult time there. I think that's mostly because my partner and I arrived in the middle of a rental crisis. Not only was apartment-hunting super competitive (ie. us and 40 other people showing up to 1 viewing slot), but the application process also required a lot of documentation and boot-licking. We were required to give the names and contact information of each of our previous employers and landlords, and with every place we applied to they'd be hounded with emails and SMS that had to be responded to, or else our application wouldn't go through. My partner and I felt like we were annoying everyone while trying not to slip into homelessness.

Eventually we did find a place, but we had a good connection to thank for that (an international church network...), and the second place we moved to was also based on a good connection afforded with a fee (Wendy Scott at YourHomeHunterAU, 10/10 would recommend her services).

I think as long as you can show that you have a steady income, a clean record, and some Australian people who can vouch for you, then you should be alright.

this was a cute little street we lived on last year

When I was there I did a semester of uni at RMIT and picked up a job at South Melbourne Market's organic grocer stall, a gig that I got because of a friend I made at an embroidery class in uni. Melbourne is a city where you gotta follow that scent of fuck around and find out. Whatever your interest are, follow it, stay open, and the universe will reward you for your vulnerability.

There's lots of events going on in Melbourne every week and some of it is free! You can find events and activities on What's On Melbourne and Eventbrite. Australians are a really friendly bunch and usually chatty, so it's easy to make friends. And the connections you make are everything!

If you make friends with people who work at the markets, they can help you score 10-15% discounts at the market, or even share with you the 'last sale' produce they get to bring home at the end of their shifts (idk how universal this is, but it happened at the place that I worked at). Such connections were really what grounded me to that special sense of community.

But yeah, if it's one thing I miss about Melbourne, it's the sheer array of clubs and events that goes on all the time around the city. I got to try out so many things that I otherwise wouldn't have in Cambodia -- joined an all-women's choir, did team-rowing in the Yarra river, tried out pole dancing for a few months, etc.

{Rule of thumb: If you can dream it, there's probably a club with people who do just that every Thursday in the botanical gardens.}

view of brighton beach

So yeah, this is just what I can recall off of the top of my head. The people are nice and interesting, the air is clean, the arts is thriving. My friend and I agreed that the city has a sort of 'Gemini energy' about it. I loved it there but I came back because I didn't feel so connected to the history, and the air travel to anywhere else in the world got increasingly expensive, but it's a fine city otherwise.

I hope this helps!

Good luck on your journey ahead whether or not you decide to move to Melbourne <3

[40sandfabulousaf]

大家好! I attempted the 250 calorie challenge again this week to highlight the hunger faced by Palestinians in Gaza. If this is your first time reading, you can find details in previous posts. This mini ready to eat meal contains tuna, corn, beans and carrots, totalling 171 calories. Even though I ate this for second breakfast in order to make it to lunch, I was very apprehensive. I. Barely. Made. It. But I did. This little meal was tasty even though I don't like beans. There're 3 flavours and I've found all of them palatable. I'll certainly buy them again.

I may not crave fastfood, but I do have cravings for other meals. During our weekly catch up, Grace mentioned her sushi lunch. Suddenly, I was reminded of vinegary pearl rice topped with fresh fish. The craving drove me nuts! Our local supermarket chain has a food hall selling various types of meals, including sushi. That was where I dashed to for my fix. This platter of 10 was mostly delicious. They added a tad too much mayo to the salmon roll; apart from that, I relished every bite. Can't believe I forgot about sushi when it's yummy. I must have it more often!

There was a new dish at the cai fan stall which I visit for lunch on return to office days - stirfried tau kwa with leek. I love leek so I ordered that, stirfried broccoli and cauliflower, fuyong egg and rice. Shredded carrots, sweet peas and onions were incorporated into the dishes. Pork and chicken were available, but I couldn't resist fuyong egg and don't regret my decision to order it. If I must name the reason a meatless meal isn't a difficult choice here, I would give all the credit to our hawkers. Their egg and tofu dishes taste incredible and their prices remain reasonable. I paid $3.20 for this filling lunch. Good luck finding salad or pasta at this price with as much nutrition when you dine out!

https://www.reuters.com/world/middle-east/un-experts-say-famine-has-spread-throughout-gaza-2024-07-09/

We've been having scorching afternoons but we also have thunderstorms and downpours. It can get better pretty cold in the office and malls so I bought a sweater. This fleece one is warm and not only did I find it stylish, Pa did too. The colours match with shorts and leggings in my wardrobe so yeah, I'll get alot of mileage. I've brought it out with me a few times already and wore it when the air-conditioning got too cold. So far, I'm happy with my buy and I'll definitely check out 361⁰ whenever I want cosy sweaters!

Please check out the Reuters article, guys, it's heartbreaking to see children reduced to pi bao gu (skin stretched around bones, emaciated) and dying from starvation in Gaza as a result of this genocidal war. Human rights should be for everyone. If it is only wielded as a geopolitical tool, it just seems hypocritical to me. Frankly, I no longer believe that proponents of human rights are sincere about wanting to make the world a better place. Because watching these Palestinians suffer just feel so wrong. 下次见!

[rynwritesstuff]

maybe eddie x plus size! reader w/ the prompt “lying on the couch on top of eachother, one combing their fingers through the other’s hair as they watch a movie” but maybe reader is kind of worried at first to partially lay on him but like,,,fluffy though ? im sorry i suck at writing requests haha thank you!

I love this!!

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of being too heavy, fluff, comfort, Eddie playing with your hair

Eddie won't let anything get in the way of him being close to you. - Oneshot

"Come here, or so help me god--"

"Munson! Be patient!" you say, huffing softly as you stall.

You've only been dating Eddie for about a month, and he's never asked you to lay on him. You're extremely hesitant, mostly because of the fact that you weigh more than he does, but you're embarrassed to point that out.

You walk into the living room, snacking on some chips as Eddie flips through channels. He looks up at you, a big smile on his face as he reaches out to you.

"C'mere, please," he says. You set down your bowl of chips. "C'mon, c'mon, I wanna hold you."

You smile softly.

"I'll crush you," you say, not really joking. Eddie's face falls.

"You'll-- what?"

You gesture to yourself.

"I'll break you, I think."

"Are you serious?" Eddie asks, sitting up a bit. You say nothing. "Oh my god, sweetheart, don't say shit like that. You're not gonna crush me."

"Eds--"

"No, no, I'm serious. Don't put yourself down like that. I wanna hold you, just c'mere."

You figure that there's really no point in arguing anymore, so you carefully lie down on top of your boyfriend, your cheek resting on his chest and your arms wrapped around his middle.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Eddie asks, his hand finding your hair almost immediately.

"Mm. Can you even breathe?"

Eddie smacks your ass, and you jump, laughing softly.

"Stop that," he says as you push your head against him again. You hum softly as he begins to play with your hair again. "I can breathe just fine."

You close your eyes, relaxing against him.

Eddie is silent for a few minutes, and the only sounds filling the room are breathing and the TV. Eddie kisses your forehead, and you let out a soft 'mm?'

You had been drifting off.

"I think you're perfect how you are," Eddie says. "Y'know. Just in case that wasn't clear."

You kiss his clothed chest.

"Thanks, baby."

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[blackswan18]

Shattered Glass | kth - Fic Announcement

Series Summary: They say time heals all wounds, but it's been eight years since you cut each other out of your lives and the pain is still sharp as ever. You were the best of friends, and a whisper of something more, but the future you once dreamed of shattered in the blink of an eye. Thrust back together by a twist of fate, you find yourselves torn between the past and the present as you struggle to pick up the pieces.

Pairing: idol!taehyung x idol!reader

Genre : idol!au (mostly canon-compliant), friends to enemies to idiots to lovers (these two will put you through the ringer), mutual pining, fluff, heavy angst, eventual smut, slow burn

Rating: 18+

Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, serious trust issues, physical violence (not with each other), mentions of past sexual abuse and infidelity, explicit sexual content; chapters will have their own warnings!

Schedule: Fall 2022

Taglist: Please comment or send an ask to be added!

a/n: I wrote half of this last year before getting pregnant with my daughter, but have been stalled out since then. I'm hoping that by posting this announcement I'll magically find the motivation to finish this once and for all :)

teaser below the cut

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅ Taehyung ⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

When Taehyung’s gaze landed on you, he nearly choked on his martini. The drink - his third of the night - was in clear violation of the personal rule he usually adhered to of having no more than two drinks while at any Big Hit-sponsored events. While his tolerance had improved significantly over the years, he still never wanted to take any chances, knowing how quickly a light buzz can morph into much more if you aren’t careful. Being that one inebriated idiot in a room full of mostly sober people was never a good look, but it was far worse when some of those people were your bosses or, if you were really having a bad day, members of the media.

And yet, there he was, well on his way to legitimate drunkenness.

You must have arrived recently because there was absolutely no way he wouldn’t have spotted you sooner. Your dress was bright red, the same exact shade of red as a stop sign, he couldn’t help but notice. It was form fitting, falling just above the knee, with a sweetheart neckline and halter tie strap. You’d paired it with matching red stilettos and a few simple pieces of silver jewelry. Your hair was up in one of those perfectly messy buns, your lips painted scarlet. 

You and the other girls from Red Velvet were on the far side of the room in the middle of a conversation with the guys from TXT. You appeared to be telling some sort of story, having apparently just said something hilarious given the way the guys all threw their heads back in laughter. You were smiling back at them, looking confident and relaxed, elegant yet sexy, truly and utterly stunning.

And, just like that he was annoyed. 

You would dress like that tonight, wearing something so eye-catching that it made it virtually impossible for him to not let his gaze linger on your figure every time he stopped staring into the bottom of his glass. You would act so boldly, waltzing in here like you owned the place, talking and laughing with his friends while he sulked alone in the corner. You would be completely unaffected by his presence, that is, if you even noticed he was there.

Watching with narrowed eyes as you leaned in to whisper something into Yeonjun’s ear, his grip on the glass in his hand tightened. You were the reason why he’d broken his two-drink rule within an hour of arriving at the party. In fact, you were the reason why he’d been drinking more and sleeping less and losing his grip entirely these last few months. Since the moment Bang PD told them of the acquisition, he’d been living in a constant state of low-level, but ever-growing anxiety. 

He had long ago locked you in a box and thrown away the key, taking all that you once were and never would be and erasing it from his waking mind. You were meant to stay in there forever, but now here you were, crashing back into his life and threatening to ruin everything. Just looking at you was stirring up memories and feelings he hadn’t the slightest clue how to deal with, ones that were still sharp and terrible as ever, even after all this time.

As he took another recklessly large gulp of his drink, he seriously considered making a break for it through the emergency exit behind him. Clearly the two of you would cross paths sooner or later now that you worked for the same company, but he wanted to delay that reunion for as long as humanly possible. Having not had a legitimate conversation with you in almost a decade, he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say to you. 

Despite the fact that you were both K-pop idols, and therefore members of a rather small circle, the two of you had done a remarkable job of avoiding one another over the last few years. Belonging to different management companies had certainly helped in that regard, as did the fact that you didn’t share any mutual friends. Although BTS and Red Velvet often attended the same award shows, there were usually so many people there that you didn’t run into each other. On the rare occasions when your groups had been forced to interact on stage or on the red carpet, the two of you had donned your most convincing smiles and pretended to be friendly, casual acquaintances. 

The only truly meaningful correspondence you’d had since high school was three years ago when his grandmother died and you sent your condolences in a handwritten letter. It had taken him two days to build up the courage to open it. The instant he started reading, he broke down. There on the page before him, in the same neat handwriting that used to appear on folded notes tucked into his backpack, were the most heartfelt, sorrowful words. 

You had met both his grandparents many times when you came with him to visit their farm in Daegu, but you’d always had a special relationship with his grandmother. Having never met either of your own, you said that she filled the hole in your heart by showering you with love and affection as if you were one of her own grandchildren. From the scattered blotches of smeared ink he could tell that you’d cried while writing the letter which absolutely shattered him. He hated it when you cried, especially when he wasn’t there to comfort you. 

The letter he wrote in response was five pages long. Into it, he poured his entire soul, telling you how happy he was to hear from you and how much it meant to him that you’d remembered his grandmother. He told you that she always loved you and that she asked about you every single time he called to talk to her, even after you’d stopped speaking to one another. He recounted some of your fondest memories from the farm like that time you got stung by a bee on the tip of your nose and looked like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. 

He asked about your family, wondering if they still lived in Jeonju and if you were able to see them often. He asked how you’d liked living in New York City and mentioned how impressed he was with your English. He congratulated you on joining Red Velvet, confessing that he’d been following your career closely for the past year and was so proud of how seamlessly you’d filled the role of main vocalist. 

And, he told you that he missed you. He told you he missed you so much that it hurt and that he thought about you every single day. He apologized again for the awful things he said to you that fateful day all those years ago, telling you he truly didn’t mean any of it and that he was just sad and scared because you were going to be so far away from him for so long. He said he wished more than anything that you could be a part of his life again. He left his phone number and all but begged you to contact him before signing the letter, ‘Love Tae’.

But, you never did. 

You never wrote back. You never texted. You never called.

Deep down, he had been holding out hope that you would come back to him one day, but your silence made him realize that was nothing more than wishful thinking. You had written out of respect for his grandmother, nothing more. You had moved on and carved out a new life for yourself, one in which he did not have a place. 

You were no longer his best friend. You were no longer his princess. You were no longer his anything. 

[folkloreguk]

French Class [2]

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this part! I’m excited to put out more parts soon!

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), smut, oral (f receiving), car sex, dirty talk, college!au, nerd!reader, fuckboy!bias

words: 4.4 k

✽series masterlist✽

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez

“And then he asked me if I would wear his tie around my neck while he- Hello? Earth to Y/N? Are you there?” Your roommate, Chohee, waved her hand in front of your face from across the table. You had occupied the seats in the back of the Chinese restaurant, in a niche where you were mostly hidden from other customers. Turns out, for all the spicy stories she had in store – as always – that had been a great idea.

“I swear your thoughts have been all over the place lately. Are you sure you have nothing to talk about?” She twirled a strand of her dyed pink hair around her fingers while she mustered you suspiciously.

“I’m sorry, I zoned out. It’s nothing, I’m just tired. I’ve been studying day and night. Looks like you’re the only one with the stories today. Just start again from the part where he got the whipped cream from the fridge,” you said.

“We went over that part five minutes ago! Have you paid any attention?” Chohee shook her head with a grin. Then she began her bedroom-adventure story from the beginning, because she knew as well as you, she loved talking about it.

Truth was, you had one hell of a story to tell. And no, you had not been paying attention. Not because you were tired. Not because you had studying on your mind. But because one hundred percent of your focus was currently directed at the boy only a few tables from yours. You only saw the back of his head, but there was no doubt about his identity. The mop of hair was unmistakable. Plus, he was in his famous black leather jacket. There was no mistaking this piece of clothing. It was decorated with white splatters of acrylic paint and had his name written messily across the top of his back. You could just about make out the tips of the letters as he leaned back comfortably, legs spread on his chair, chatting to his friend.

Chohee had no idea about the grip the person behind her had on you. She was your closest friend, and yet you hadn’t broken the news to her: You were hooking up (and not just once) with the so-called “hottest guy on campus”. AT least those had been her words when she had first told you about him. Lately you had to admit, you were starting to agree. It wasn’t like you wanted to keep secrets from her. In fact, on many occasions you had almost crumbled and told her the full story. Had she not been such a chatterbox, and did she not love gossiping as much as she did, you swore she would already know about your little arrangement with him.

She was aware of this much: You and him were casual friends. Study buddies, one would say. You had subtly passed over the little details of your friendship. How grocery store visits sometimes turned into visits to his dorm because of a simple text of his, or how you had sneaked out on more than one occasion in the middle of the night because he had told you his dormmates weren’t home. It wasn’t weird to Chohee that you brushed over the particularities of your “one-night-stands” when you returned in the mornings. You had never been as big on sharing as she was.

Maybe you wanted to keep things to yourself out of fear what people would say, too. You couldn’t care less whether people knew you were sleeping around. But everyone knew him, or so it seemed. Girls wanted him. Boys wanted to be him. All you desired was his friendship and some fun. You had no interest in being known on campus or having people you’ve never met giving you the side-eye over having sex with an oh-so-special boy. One day you would tell Chohee all about it. You weren’t technically lying. Just not sharing the entire story.

“Remember how I said H/N was the hottest guy ever?” Chohee suddenly said. The sound of his name made your head snap back to reality.

“Oh, now you’re listening, I see. All it takes is for me to mention your new bestie,” she teased. “You shouldn’t get too attached to him. I have a feeling that girls are interchangeable to him, either way. Anyway, I’ve decided I find his friend Korain much more attractive, since I’ve been hooking up with him.”

Would it be weird to correct her? To promise her, when you had more time and weren’t so distracted, you would lay the truth on her? He isn’t like that at all, you wanted to say. Yes, he liked female attention. But that didn’t make him a bad guy. Would it sound crazed to explain how he knew how you took your coffee, and how he sent you pictures of your favorite animals before your exams to take some of the nerves away? Or how he reported that it took him exactly 1,012 steps to get to your dorm from his place? Multiple times you had tried to count the distance yourself, but you never seemed to have enough focus to make it. Something always caught you off guard. You had doubted his credibility, but he swore he wasn’t bluffing.

Speaking of his friend Korain – who was at this very Chinese restaurant with H/N – he was suddenly making eye contact with you. Before you could slide lower into your seat like a frightened animal, he had grinned at you. Oh no. Prompted by his friend’s smile in your direction, H/N now turned his head. You were thankful Chohee was still deep in her explanation on why she had changed her opinions on the two very boys only a few tables away. If only she knew.

H/N’s eyes caught yours and a smirk plastered on his face. You assumed the tiny smile you sent him would do, but no. The two young men had collected their things and were getting ready to leave. The exit was the opposite direction, and yet H/N took the long way there. His stride was that of a model as he approached your table.

“Y/N,” he said, voice sweet like sugar candy and his smile charming like famous artwork. “You wanna hang at the library later?”

Chohee was now eyeing him as if she was your bodyguard and he was an obsessed fan who had crossed into your personal space. All you could think of was how you wanted him as your dessert. Now. But you had an exam coming up in a few days. So, his invitation fit just right.

“I’ll be there.” You smiled politely. He gave you a raised eyebrow, but then nodded, said goodbye, spun around and followed his friend out of the restaurant. When you looked at Chohee, she was already giving you eyes that asked a billion questions at once. Fantastic. Now you’d have to explain that “hang at the library” was not some sort of codeword for sex, but you had – against all odds – convinced the local prince of fuckboys that studying wasn’t such an atrocious idea after all. But fate saved you before you could begin your clarification.

“Oh no! Where has the time gone? I have to get to my afternoon lecture!” Chohee exclaimed, quickly gathering her purse and jacket. “My professor will curse me if I’m late again!”

And with that, she scrambled up from the table. “Don’t think you’re getting off easy just because I have to go! I demand a good story when I get home!”

You knew she was just being dramatic, and should you decide to keep everything to yourself for another month, she wouldn’t be mad. And yet, the urge to tell her crept up on you as you watched her hurry out of the door while waving one last time. Your morning classes had been the only appointment in your calendar for the day. So, with nothing else to do, you fished for your phone to message him for a time to meet at the library.

~

“What were you being so weird for earlier?” he asked as he plopped down on the wooden chair across from you. His books slammed on the table, and you flinched a little. Boys.

“Thanks for reminding me why I chose to sit in the group project area today. Could you be any louder in a library?” you said. “And thank god we’re the only ones here.”

“Thanks for reminding me that you’re still great at avoiding questions,” he returned.

“I just didn’t want my friend to ask questions.”

“So you talked to me like a five year old would respond to their kindergarten teacher? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? The guy with the reputation?”

“No, I’m not. Wait? What? And what kind of reputation would that be, if I may ask? The you-only-sleep-with-a-girl-once-reputation?”

“You should know the nastiest rumors mostly prove to be false. I was thinking of something more delightful. Like a gives-the-best-head-on-campus-kind of reputation.”

You snorted. “And who is going to do the research to prove that?”

“Why don’t you look around and report back to me?” he smirked.

“No thanks. I’m already hooking up with a guy who’s more than a handful.”

He faked taking offence in your words with a theatrical gasp. “Is that so? The girl I’m hooking up with isn’t much better. Always asks to hang at the library like she doesn’t beg me to fuck her the second we get out of there.”

“Let me remind you that you were the one who suggested this place today,” you said. “I was ready to jump into your bed and you had to stall time like this.”

“Are you for real? What are we still doing here, then?” he asked, and you tilted your head with a suggestive grin that mirrored his.

15 minutes later:

“Who the fuck stores five umbrellas in their car?” You kicked another one off the backseat you were lying on. Your bra was exposed beneath your shirt which he had pushed up on your chest and was now attacking the exposed skin with hungry kisses.

“That’s what you get for not getting it on in the library,” he muttered against your skin without looking up.

“We’d be asking to get suspended from there by doing that,” you said. “And I cherish my library very much.”

He only made a snickering noise and shook his head before he went to take off his shirt – and promptly hit his head on the car roof. “Ow! This sucks. I can barely move.”

“That’s what you get for not waiting until we’re at your place,” you teased him with his own words. But judging by the prominent bulge in his pants, you supposed you didn’t want him driving anywhere. Not with naughty things on his mind, and with you next to him to only make him hornier. Your eyes fell on the dark purple spots on his abdomen, and you grinned.

“Wow. Someone must have worked hard to make that stomach even prettier,” you said.

“Yeah, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He bent down to your ear and his husky tone sent cold shivers up your spine. Of course, you knew. You were the one who bit and sucked the hickeys into his skin two days ago, after all. His hands palming your boobs through your bra drew out a desperate sigh from you.

“Let’s play a game. What do you say?” he asked.

“What kind of game would that be?” Your interest was roused. He was lost in thought for a moment, hands slowly running up and down your exposed legs. Luckily, you had opted for a skirt today. All he’d had to do was to push it up to your belly and get rid of your underwear after your short but very steamy make-out session on the backseat. The cool air on your exposed core was only magnifying your impatience.

“Whoever comes first, loses.” You couldn’t suppress a chuckle at his idea, and he eyed you with indignation. “You don’t like it?”

“Everyone knows women take longer to orgasm than men do,” you said. “Are you trying to dig your own grave or what?”

“That’s why I’ll have a head start,” he announced. His hands circled the skin close to your core, creeping up your thighs slowly.

“And what’s the prize for winning?”

“The loser owes the winner a favor.”

“Too vague. I don’t trust you with that.”

“I don’t trust you, she says as she waits for me to fuck her in my car,” he mocked.

“I don’t trust your crazy ideas,” you clarified. “What about this? The winner pays for the loser’s next meal when we eat together.”

“Deal.” He slid his fingers over your pussy, and you crumbled into a whining mess within seconds. No matter how much your head denied it, he really was the best. He caught your clit between his digits and your eyes rolled to the back of your head for a moment.

“Shit, you only turn me on more if you’re going to moan like that.” He lowered his head and spit on your center, and the laughter that had been bubbling in your throat died in an instant. His fingers rubbed your nub fast and spread his saliva – without doubt his attempt at tipping you closer to the edge before he had even begun to fuck you.

“Too bad you find me so hot,” you said, and let out a purposely dramatic whimper, followed by his name in your best fake-porn-voice. His smile had something wholesome, as if he was admiring his friend making silly jokes, but also a glint of playfulness. You knew had been a mask when he bit his lip and exhaled slowly. With ease, he slid his middle finger into you. As he curled it against your sweet spot, he bent down to suck on your clit and your back arched at the sudden pleasure.

“Too bad you’re going to lose,” he said, and then continued his antics. Had he continued this way for another few minutes, his words wouldn’t have been so far from the truth. But you had other plans.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” you asked. “That’s enough of your head start.”

“I only just tasted you. Why would it be called a head start, if you’re going to stop me two minutes into giving you head?” he asked and you would’ve slapped his shoulder, had he been close enough. Instead, you closed your eyes for a few seconds. He was the competitive one here, and you didn’t mind enjoying yourself for now. Sighing in temporary defeat, your head fell back onto the seat. The sun was shining its last rays through the car window. They caught in his curled eyelashes and on his skin, coloring him golden.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, arm snaking around your thigh. He held on to you, but it wasn’t as if you could have moved away from him. Your head was right by the car door. His lips around your clit paired with his finger steadily rubbing against your sweet spot inside of you made you feel like floating. His free hand touched your leg gently, caressing your skin as if he wasn’t also simultaneously pushing you to the urge to yell out his name in pleasure. You tangled your fingers in his soft hair, as if you needed to do so to keep him in place. But something in the back of your mind still had a desire for winning. Trying to collect the last bits of your dwindling sanity, you hatched a plan. Good on you – you knew just what rode him into madness.

“I- I need you to fuck me, please,” you begged, making sure to add an extra layer of tragedy to your voice. “Please, I want it so bad.”

He looked up at you, a dark glint in his eyes. Of course, he did. All was going according to plan. It wasn’t like you had known him all your life, but you were perfectly aware of one thing. He could never resist your dirty talking and begging.

“Please?” you bat your eyelashes ever so longingly at him.

“Is that so?” He was now straightening up. His black pupils were dilated, and he was looking at you with the expectation of a loyal puppy waiting for his treat. You grabbed the front hem of his pants and pulled him towards you. In a moment, you had unzipped the material for him.

“I want you to fuck me like you did the first time we met. At the party,” you said. “Do you ever think about it, too?”

“Fuck, of course I do,” he said. Faster than you could register, he was ripping a condom wrapper and sliding it onto his free length. His cock stood angry and hard against his stomach. Perhaps your dramatic words weren’t so far-fetched. You couldn’t wait for him.

“Then do it, please,” you said. “Right now, this pussy is all yours. Use it the way it should be used.”

He muttered a swear under his breath and you knew he was in the palm of your hand. His hot breath fanned your neck as he bent over you, cock aligned with your exposed core. For a moment his length slid through your wetness, and he groaned at the warmth that was about to engulf him.

“I’m so fucking wet,” you moaned. “And all for you.”

You would have been lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the exaggerated show you were putting on for him as much as he did. Although, you weren’t sure whether you were allowed to call it exaggeration, at all. Your walls clenched around nothing as the tip of his cock touched your juices and he eyed you like he could’ve eaten you up right then and there.

When he finally entered you, he instantly sighed. His eyes were shut tightly as he dealt with the impact of feeling you around his shaft. A small spark of triumph went through you. That was, until he pushed your legs up and snapped his hips against yours. A sharp, sudden burst of pleasure shot through you and the coil in your stomach tightened all at once. You suspected your plan was backfiring slightly. Your words not only appealed to him and his famished mind and body. They also got to your head, and there you were, barely able to contain yourself under a load of blind hunger.

“You want me to fuck you senseless, huh?” he asked. His words went straight to your core. Nonetheless, you had a goal to work towards and you weren’t set on giving up.

“Yes, oh my god,” you whimpered. “That’s all I’m asking for. Please, I know you can. You always fuck me so well.”

In response, he rammed his body into yours so abruptly, you gave off a noise of surprise and pleasure at the same time. He bent his upper body over yours to support himself. His hands lay flat on the seat on both sides of your head. His thrusts made your legs shake now and then, when his cock hit that one spot inside of you. It was causing you to see entire galaxies on the inside of your eyelids. When you blinked up at him, the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. Darkness had always suit him better than the golden sunset, either way. The muscles in his arms flexed and his eyebrows furrowed, and for a moment you called victory yours. But you couldn’t be sure for longer than a moment.

Because from one second to another he straightened up and slowed his thrusts. The gradualness had something equally as striking. He dragged his cock through your scarlet walls and his fingers found your clit. You drew out a ragged breath and cursed him for regaining the upper hand. Yet, you quickly abandoned the thought of defeat. When you allowed yourself to feel the pleasure, every last thought vanished at last. You moaned and whimpered helplessly. Without overthinking, you wrapped your hand around his wrist. He shot you a confused smirk.

“Too much, baby?” he said. “Think you won’t be able to handle it? A shame. It would really be too bad if you lost. You were doing so well up to now.”

You swallowed, hard. His patronizing voice tugged at your nerves and yet you loved when he spoke to you this way during sex. And he was aware of it – hence his knowing grin.

“Don’t stop moving,” you asked him to keep up his thrusts. “It’s not fair, otherwise.”

“Oh no. I would never dare break the rules,” he said.

He did as you said, and it only made things more mind-consuming for you. You were again reminded of the small tornado raging in the pit of your belly, threatening to consume you all over. It was only a matter of time. But what he could do, you could do better.

“Do you like fucking me in my skirt?” you taunted him, blinking ever so sweetly. Your eyes were dripping honey as you put on your most innocent gaze. “Am I pretty like this?”

“You’re the prettiest,” he muttered, biting his lip as if he was stopping a thousand moans from spilling out. “So. Fucking. Hot.”

“If I wear this skirt to class tomorrow, and you see me in the halls, will you think of this moment?” you asked. His fingers on your clit were shaky and moving unevenly. You might have been digging your own grave along with his. You didn’t care. Too many lectures you had wasted, barely able to concentrate because of the boy on top of you.

“Definitely. You weren’t wearing that earlier, at the restaurant,” he said. You wondered how many people had ever seen him this way – utterly breathless, all his cool vaporizing at once.

“Good observation,” you said, but you were struggling with your words as much as he was unable to keep calm. What was meant to sound lazy and seductive had morphed into a whimper and small sighs. “I wasn’t. I- I put it on just for you.”

He cursed again and abandoned all his remaining self-control. His grip on you was iron-tight and you clenched your fists. Oh, how you wished you could have buried your head into a pillow, or better even, the crook of a neck. Instead, you moaned his name almost soundlessly and searched for his dark eyes.

“Say my name again,” he demanded, like it was his last request on earth. So, you obeyed, only because you would have done anything for him right now, if it meant that he would keep fucking you that way.

“Oh my- my god,” you moaned. “Please don’t stop, fuck-“

“You look so hot right now, baby,” he groaned. “Shit- I could come just looking at you.”

“Then do it,” you said. Challengingly, you both smirked at each other. It lasted only the blink of an eye. You felt your insides twist before you could have prevented it. And all of a sudden, you crashed. Your intense orgasm erupted, and it took you several seconds to realize it, but then you heard it. His high-pitched moans, quiet and curse-stricken, could only mean one thing. You weren’t the only one, and therefore not the first to reach your high. A content smile spread on your face as his messy thrusts went on for a short while and you bathed in the remaining moments of bliss.

Silence set in as you both kept still to catch your breaths. You worried he would pin the loss on you, nonetheless, and inwardly braced yourself for his accusations. But to your surprise, he only laughed and collapsed on top of you. His breath tickled your neck slightly.

“We’ll be splitting the bill, I suppose?” he said. He straightened up to look you in the eyes playfully.

“Looks like it,” you said. You guessed his fighting spirit had been appeased and his energy had been spent on better things than arguing with you. You never minded it.

~

“Did you have a nice study session? Does the library lady assume you’re homeless and actually living there, yet?” Chohee teased as you entered your shared kitchen. She was typing on her phone but looked up when you only laughed.

“Is that a hickey?” she asked, and you knew you were done for. “What exactly is it you were studying? H/N’s body?”

“I guess I should tell you. Sooner or later, you’ll know,” you relented.

“Tell me what? Oh my god. Are you guys dating? Are you dating H/N?”

“No! You know I have no time for a boyfriend,” you said. “But…we’ve been hooking up.”

“Damn girl,” she said. “What do you have on him that he keeps coming back?”

“Excuse me? Am I really that boring of a company?”

“No. You’re the best company I could ever ask for, obviously,” she said, smiling at you. “But you remember his reputation. He sleeps with the same girl only once.”

“It’s just a stupid rumor,” you said. “Besides, we’re not just hooking up. He’s my friend. You already knew that.”

“Friend, huh?” Chohee asked. “Alright. So, you’re telling me he can hang out with you without trying to get it on?”

“He can, actually. And let me tell you, he’s cool. And pretty funny, too,” you said. She raised her eyebrows at you. “We’ve set some rules. We hook up, but also hang out as friends. Neither is allowed to be upset when the other turns down sex. We can both hook up with anyone else, still. No jealousy, no attachments. Just a good time.”

“Alright,” Chohee nodded. “If you’re so close, do you think you could introduce me to some of his friends sometime?”

You laughed, nodding. Chohee and H/N had quite some things in common, you realized then. Maybe that’s why you liked the two of them so much.

“Let’s see how long that lasts, then. Don’t wrap him too tightly around your finger, or he might trip and fall,” she winked. It was your turn to raise your eyebrow. Whatever she might have been insinuating – you had zero plans of making it reality. (Yet.)

[wowbright]

Fic: Straight Guys Can Tell

Klaine Spring Fling: hideous

Words: ~ 1100 words

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Turns out, Chandler is kind of hot. Blaine panics.

This is part of my Mormon!Klaine universe. It takes place after Last Night You Helped Me Through (Easter weekend).

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost. (More recent posts are in bold.)

Thanks @coffeegleek for your help!

––––

“Sorry for showing up in this hideous outfit.” Chandler’s voice rang through the empty-but-for-Blaine Sunday school room. “I was halfway through my workout when I remembered this is the night English group meets. And I’ve been wanting to come so much. I promise to dress more appropriately next time.”

“You didn't have to rush. We don't start for another ten minutes.” Blaine turned around from writing the lesson theme on the flipboard and immediately forgot what he had been writing.

Chandler didn't look like Chandler at all. Well, maybe his cheekbones were the same. But his glasses were different, and he wasn't wearing a hat or one of his usual overly thematic get-ups. His hair was sticking up in all kinds of weird directions, but in a nice way, the way it should when a person has been exerting himself, and his fitted T-shirt showed off the broadness of his chest and the musculature of his arms, which maybe were a little smaller than Blaine’s, but still pleasing, and his legs—

Jiminy Cricket. This was Blaine’s first time seeing Chandler in shorts, and boy, were those legs impressive. Blaine would have expected scrawny legs, especially since Chandler had told them he’d had both mono and a knee injury earlier in the year, but Chandler’s thighs were like sequoias, and as for his calves, Blaine figured if he tried wrapping his two hands around them, some to middle finger, there was no way he’d be able to close the circle. They bulged.

Blaine pointed at them, almost in shock. “Didn't you say you were out of school this semester because of a knee injury?”

Chandler looked down to where Blaine was pointing, as if he might find the answer there. “That was part of it. But it was mostly the mono.”

“How can your legs look like that when you were in bed for … what, months?”

“Like what?”

“Like you're not wasting away?”

Chandler momentarily squinted his eyes at Blaine, like he was trying to figure something out. But the expression dissolved so quickly Blaine couldn't be sure Chandler had made it at all. “I wasn't in bed the whole time. And I continued my physical therapy exercises during mono—the ones that the doctor said were okay. But my legs were bigger before I got sick. They're just starting to get back toward normal.”

“Huh.” Blaine was almost afraid to picture what they looked like in their natural state. “Did you see Elder Hummel on your way in?”

“No.”

Good. There was time to warn him. “I’ll be right back.”

Blaine headed toward the bathroom. He knocked on the door. “Elder Hummel?”

“You don't have to knock. There are stalls in here.”

“Yeah, but—” Blaine didn't continue. A lot of missionaries didn't respect privacy around the bathroom, but Blaine did. Missionaries didn't get a lot of time to themselves, and there was a certain amount of dignity in being able to relieve themselves without a chaperone. Besides, there was always the chance that a companion needed to relieve himself in a more intimate way, and Blaine didn't want to be the jerk who walked in when the guy was right on the edge and ruin everything.

The door swung open. “What's up?” Elder Hummel said.

Blaine pushed Elder Hummel back through the open door and let it close behind them. “I just thought I should give you a heads up.” His voice was close to a whisper.

“About what?”

“Chandler.”

“What? Did he text you?”

“No, he's here.”

“Is that what you're warning me about? I don't need to be warned about Chandler. And I thought you were getting along with him now.”

“I am. But—” Blaine was just going to have to say it. “He looks different today. He’s in his gym clothes.”

“I’m not following.”

“Like, a T-shirt and shorts and nothing else.”

“And?” Elder Hummel raised his eyebrows, which somehow made Blaine feel an even greater sense of urgency.

“He’s just— It just turns out that—” Blaine lowered his voice further. “He's really hot.”

Elder Hummel burst out laughing. “How would you know?”

“Straight guys can tell if other guys are hot.”

Elder Hummel shrugged one shoulder. “I guess I wouldn't know. But I still don't see why this is something you need to warn me about. It's not like I'm super interested in him. You know that.”

“I know. I know.” Blaine wondered if he was protesting too much. Maybe he was being homophobic again, assuming that every gay guy would be overcome with desire when presented with extremely muscular male legs. But— “Well, I just wanted you to be aware. I figured if I noticed, you might notice, too. And I thought you might want to mentally prepare. Because, honestly, he's ripped.”

Elder Hummel laughed, one of those light laughs that sounded like a spring bubbling up from a secret place in the earth. “Well, thank you for the consideration? But also, it’s Chandler. I’m not really into Chandler.”

Elder Hummel’s really only confirmed that Blaine had done the right thing. If Elder Hummel had to put qualifiers on his attraction to Chandler, it meant that he was a teeny tiny bit into him. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but they couldn't afford the distraction.

“Elder Anderson, did I ever tell you about my trainer?”

“I think you mentioned his name. Elder … West? Westervile?”

“Weston.”

“Elder Weston." Blaine repeated the name so that he might remember this time. “You said he read Thomas Mann instead of scripture during personal study time.”

“Yeah. He also walked around the apartment naked.”

“You mean, in his garments?”

“No, naked. It was summer, it was hot. And he was not. I mean, there was nothing wrong with how he looked, and he was even kind of ripped, but I wasn’t interested. I don’t know if it was divine intervention or he just wasn’t my type, but ... I'm not worried about Chandler.”

“Okay.” Blaine still felt a little weird about the whole thing, but he trusted his companion. Besides, even if Elder Hummel did end up swooning over Chandler’s meaty legs, it wasn’t like he was going to let it interfere with the evening’s lesson or with his missionary work. Elder Hummel had remarkable self-control. If Blaine was gay and some guy who'd been flirting with him turned out to have legs like that, all bets would be off. “Well," said Blaine, "I just wanted to give you time to mentally prepare in case you needed it. But you don't, so … sorry I'm weird.”

“Never apologize for being weird, Elder Anderson. It's my favorite thing about you.”